eight years after

i woke up to the taste of laughter on my lips-the scent of happiness in my cracked skin-i woke with letters full of memories of you
the wind had riddled from their box
and flung across the room.
and it seemed to me the world was a double exposure
of my youth when i had loved you
as purely as any child loves.

i know-i think i know at least-
that there is nothing in these glamorous inky passages;
these words that raise you as a hero and a king
into a place upon a pedestal in my heart-
i think i know these count as nothing in my bustling life.

but cool questions like the pummeling raindrops
on my misted window glass are slowly sinking in
and what-ifs are filling me with
doubt...
might-have-beens
are twisting briny tears into my quiet eyes
i wonder where you are now--who you are-and
if you ever feel the same